


two sides of the same coin

by marin27



Series: Once Upon A Found-family-clan [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Baby Yoda Needs a Hug, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Post Ep 8, Post Season 1, Protective Baby Yoda, Protective Din Djarin, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marin27/pseuds/marin27
Summary: The Child is hurt and Din feels more than inadequate to handle the stress.---aka a fic about din taking care of a baby yoda after a small injury.din doesn't realise the worry goes both ways.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Din Djarin & Baby Yoda, Dyn Jarren & Baby Yoda
Series: Once Upon A Found-family-clan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603552
Comments: 29
Kudos: 446





	two sides of the same coin

**Author's Note:**

> Yes baby yoda does get hurt here but not too badly, I promise!  
> They both turn out okay at the end and its a happy ending

It’s in the way the little fingers curl into the fabric. The dirty, dusty cloth bunched up between his claws, knot pulling on Din’s neck, fear and trust conveyed just by the wrinkles on the cloak caused by tiny tightened fists. 

It’s in the way he trembles, his small—tiny, really—body quivering against the muscle of Din’s arm, despite how firmly the bounty hunter curls him into the crook of his elbow. 

It’s in the way he whimpers, quiet and small. Impossibly fragile yet also not, because despite the fear intertwining with his heart-breaking mewls, it breaks the silence. It’s loud, jarring, almost like he’s begging for attention, because he trusts Din; trusts him not to use his fright against him, to never let his hurt and panic go unheard in the blank abyss of space like it has been for the past few decades. 

It’s in the way he doesn’t flinch away, even after a traumatic fight like that, when Din cradles the injured ear in his hand. The small traces of blood smearing on the deep brown of his gloves makes Din break out into a freezing sweat. 

It makes Din’s senses zone into hyper-focus with the utmost precision, yet makes his emotions trip up, his heart palpitating, feeling like its punching its way through his ribcage and out his armour. 

The cut is superficial, nothing too drastic (if it were, Din is pretty sure he’d be on the floor having a heart attack) but it’s bleeding more than it had any right to, the image scarring into the deep recesses of Din’s mind, an image he knows will drown him in a tub of misery later. 

The Child is nothing but compliant, if a little jittery. He’s in pain, soft puffs of pants blowing beads of condensation on Din’s beskar armour. 

When Din wipes the trickle of blood with a cleansing pad, the Child seizes up, tugging harder on the cloak, wide eyes pooling with tears so quickly it gives Din whiplash. It makes Din’s fingers curl tighter into the burlap coat the little one dons. 

“Shh, it’s almost over, kid, I promise.” The soothing tone works, quelling the cries, but the tiny muffled whines don’t escape Din’s attention. It’s enough motivation for Din to work faster, being efficient in his gentle strokes. 

It almost feels like it’s been a whole cycle by the time Din has sprayed bacta onto the wound. 

Its effect is immediate and it’s seen in both parties. The little one sighs quietly, relieved of most of the pain, and Din’s tense shoulders aren’t touching the edges of his helmet. 

Din also doesn’t feel the homicidal tendencies creeping into the edges of his vision anymore (which, believe it or not, didn’t immediately dissipate when Din shot this tenth blast into the man responsible for all this panic in the first place). He isn’t itching to go back on that kriffing planet and shoot up the place again. 

The wriggling child in his lap brings his attention back to the present, the little one now beaming up, albeit tiredly, at Din. 

Din almost breaks at the Child tapping his helmet, babbling nonsensically as if the last five minutes didn’t happen. As if the worst five minutes of Din’s life didn’t happen. 

Din lets his sore body slump against the chair and leans forward to push his head into the Child’s hands. He sighs haggardly. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you with me. It was my fault. My fault you got hurt.” 

Din shuts his eyes, but it doesn’t bring him relief, only a flair of panic caused by his brain replaying the moment the Child got hurt. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Din sighs again, the silence in the ship suddenly filling the space. 

“What the—” 

Din hears rather than feels a fist thump against his chestplate. He hears it again, only now it’s harder and Din can feel the hit through the metal. He opens his eyes to see the Child glowering at him, his big brown eyes filled to the brim with tears again. 

Din watches with detached confusion when the little one tries to hit him once more. 

By the fourth time, Din grabs onto the tiny hands pounding into the metal. 

“Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself!” 

The Child doesn’t stop moving, wriggling in his grip as he tries to pry from Din’s much stronger hold. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

The Child whines, much louder than the whimpers he was making a few minutes ago. 

“What’s going on? Why are you acting like this?” 

He wails even louder, shuffling closer to Din, his green hands suddenly gluing themselves over the spot of his armour, over where his heart is. 

Din furrows his brows, staring at the Child as he tries to figure out what has made his ward freak out so terribly, more so than the wound did. 

The Child bursts into tears as he now starts dragging his blunt claws over the same armoured spot. 

“What are you doing—” 

His eyes go down to where the Child’s pained gaze is focused on and Din sucks in a breath. 

Oh 

_Oh_

“Oh.” 

Right where the Child is scratching his chestplate—the source of the little one’s panic—is a dark scorch mark of a deflected blast. Din vaguely remembers the shot sending him sprawling on his back and the kid crying out for him. He must have seen it happen. The little one probably thought he got hurt, or worse. 

He glances at the kid and his heart stutters at the tears rolling down his cheeks, mouth curled downwards as he tries to choke back his sobs. 

If Din freaked out over a tiny cut, he can only wonder how it must have been like for the kid to see his protector fly backwards from a shot clearly aimed at his heart. 

Din only shakes his head, muttering soft reassurances. He even goes to grab another cleansing wipe to get the soot off, polishing it right in the view of the Child. 

“See, kid? I’m okay.” 

He’s still frowning, but the waterworks have stopped. Din doesn’t stop himself from wiping away the tears. He doesn't have the energy to fight off the affectionate urges anymore, not after what they’ve been through. 

He still glowers, eyes filled with worried unshed tears. 

Din sighs once more, ultimately deciding he doesn’t like the look of tears on the Child. He reaches for his arm band, and with a soft click, the chestplate unhinges from the body suit. 

Din pulls it off of him and before he can put it aside, two small green fussy hands make their way over his heart, pressing down and checking for life under his shirt. 

The bounty hunter’s brain can only take in so much before it shuts down from shock or something akin to it. 

So, he relies on his instincts for now, letting his heart take over his actions rather than his brain. 

His hand has a mind of its own when it finds its way to the wrinkled forehead of the Child, stroking carelessly as he feels tiny fists curl into his shirt, much like they did with his cloak. 

It feels as if someone punched him in the chest, winding him terribly when the Child all of a sudden presses his whole body against his torso, ear flushed over his heart. 

Din freezes at first, unsure of what to do. 

Eventually, once he’s used to the weight pressing into his stomach, he continues with his gentle ministrations. 

Din looks down and squints at his ward. 

Is he... listening? 

The Child is still, quiet. 

As if he is trying to hear for Din’s heartbeat. 

He surely would have heard the skip in rhythm when Din realised what he’s doing. 

“Ahem, kid?” 

The Child doesn’t move for a few long moments, and just when Din starts getting any worries of why, the kid looks up sluggishly. 

Din is familiar with that look, that glint in his brown eyes that makes Din’s knees buckle with affection and rather weak self-control. 

Fatigue. 

The Child and him sleep in separate bunks. Usually, the kid would sleep in the emergency cot, considering Din doesn’t keep a spare sleeping cot on board. 

But he’d be damned right now if he didn’t let the Child sleep with him. 

Though, he’s unsure of who he’s reassuring more. Him or the kid. 

Din doesn’t say much else, wordlessly scooping up the Child into his arms and wrapping his cloak around the tiny body. He creeps silently towards his own cot, finally feeling exhaustion sweeping over him like a blanket. 

He puts down the Child first—cloak untied just for him—and starts stripping himself of his armour. The clunks of metal hitting the floor doesn’t even pierce the fog of sleepiness. 

The kid is halfway to snooze-ville, his eyes lidded as he curls into the cloak. But even with sleep grasping the little womp rat, he doesn’t take his eyes off of Din, not for a moment. 

It’s as if he’s scared of him vanishing into thin air. 

A breath of disdained amusement comes out from Din’s nose. 

“You and me both, kid.” 

Din settles into his cot, and was about to place the kid on his other pillow when he started whimpering again, arms stretching towards Din’s hand. 

The man sighs and eventually pulls him close to his chest. The change of position settles down the kid immediately, ear once again pressed over the place of his heart. 

Maybe the kid has powers other than moving and healing things with his mind because soon enough, even Din feels the last weight of stress and anxiety vanish like smoke. As if the Child in his arms absorbed all his doubt and fear from the trenches of his heart. 

The warmth of affection is palpable in the air, emitted and received by both parties of the room. Din can’t even find it within himself to care because he slips into the abyss of sleep, feeling the safety and comfort coveting the both of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoy that! I had a lot of fun writing it at 1am. It's now 4.25am as I write this end note.  
> Tell me your thoughts about it! <3  
> Here's my   
> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/marin27iswriting)!


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